Conversations that Never Happened
by suicidalunicorn97
Summary: Sam and Dean don't do Chick Flick Moments. (Not that they'll admit to, anyway.) Rated T for language. Brotherly feels, but no slash. Trigger warning for mention of suicidal thoughts. (May or may not be a one-shot, depending on if anyone wants to read more)


Seven year old Sammy couldn't stop worrying. He looked out the window, watching and waiting for hours. What if they didn't come back this time?

But after four hours of anxious glances out the window, he finally spotted the Impala pulling up. Within minutes, Dad and Dean walked through the motel door, covered in dirt and blood. Sam's face lit up when he saw that they were in one piece. "How did it go?" He asked.

"Good. We got it. Dean's getting faster." John said proudly.

Dean didn't beam at the praise like he normally would, and although their dad didn't seem to notice, Sam saw it.

"I'm gonna take the first shower." He said, heading into the bathroom.

Eleven year old Dean sat at the table, quietly waiting for his turn.

"Hey," Sam said softly. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Dean smiled, but it was obviously fake. He looked exhausted. He had this expression on his face...almost haunted. It wasn't surprising. Sammy knew there were bad things out there, and that his father and brother hunted them. Their dad brushed it off, and Dean was getting to the point where nothing surprised him anymore.

But some hunts were bad. Some left him traumatized. He had nightmares. Sam heard him every night. Sometimes he would wake up screaming, and Sam would crawl into bed with him, letting the warmth of his small body comfort his big brother.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Sammy."

"Do you ever wish it was Dad who died, instead of Mom?"

Dean's eyes widened at the question, and Sam worried that his brother would get mad at him for thinking such a horrible thing. But to his surprise, Dean looked down and quietly answered, "Yes."

"Really?"

"I dunno, maybe our life would be different. Maybe we'd have an actual house, instead of being on the road all the time. Maybe we wouldn't have to..." He trailed off. "It doesn't matter." His voice hardened. "This is the way things are now."

Sam nodded sadly.

"Oh, and Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"This conversation never happened."

* * *

Sam couldn't believe it. He'd gotten out. He was gonna have a normal life. It took every ounce of courage he had to walk away, but he'd done it. Here he was, his first week at Stanford. Stanford, of all places! Things were different here. Quiet. Safe. He was about to go to bed, when his cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Heyyy, Sammy." He instantly recognized his brother's voice.

"Are you drunk?

"Nah."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, right."

"Listen, buddy. I know you and Dad had a fight-"

"I left, Dean. It doesn't matter. I'm out."

"Please come back."

Sam was taken aback. Dean was rarely this straightforward, even when he was drunk. "I can't. Classes start this week."

"Sammy, please."

Was that a sob? Was Dean crying?

"Please come home."

"We don't have a home, De. We have shitty motel rooms."

"It's home if you're there." His voice broke, and Sam felt a lump in his own throat.

"I'm sorry, Dean. This is my life. I'm gonna live it the way _I_ want to."

His brother drew a shuddering breath. "Fine. Have it your way." He sniffled.

"I'm sorry," Sam repeated.

"'s all good." Dean slurred. "Do me a favor...forget that I called."

* * *

It had been two months since Jessica died, and Sam was still having nightmares. Tonight was no exception. He woke up drenched in sweat, and breathing hard.

"Sammy..."

He opened his eyes to find a concerned Dean sitting at the edge of his bed.

"Hey, sorry I woke you up." Sam panted, trying to catch his breath.

"It's okay. I just...I wish you didn't have to go through this."

Sam leaned back against the headboard. "Yeah, me too. I'll be fine though."

Dean didn't look convinced. "You wanna go for a drive?"

Sam snorted. "It's the middle of the night."

"Were you planning on going back to sleep?"

"Well, no..."

"I'm not tired either. Let's go."

So they drove. Sam didn't know where they were going, but he trusted Dean. After a half hour, they pulled off the main road and Dean put the car in park.

"What are we doing?"

"I wanna show you something." Curious, Sam followed him out of the car. Dean leaned back against the Impala's hood. "Look up." He instructed.

Sam did, and his eyes widened. The sky was beautiful tonight. Stars glittered in the moonlight, thousands of tiny lights.

"I'd like to think they're watching." Dean said quietly.

"Huh?"

"Mom. And Jessica. I think they're stars. They're looking out for us down here."

Sam nodded, feeling a sob rise in his throat. "I didn't know you thought about it that way." He choked out.

"Yeah. Makes it easier." Dean put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "It sucks right now. It hurts like hell, and it'll probably always hurt like hell. But it'll get easier to deal with."

"Thanks." Sam said hoarsely.

"Yeah."

After gazing at the beautiful night sky for a while, they got back in the car and headed back to the motel. Upon arriving, Dean watched Sam climb back into bed. "Hey, Bitch?"

"Yeah Jerk?"

"Don't tell Dad about what I said...okay? About Mom watching us from the stars?"

"Got it." Sam nodded, understanding.

* * *

Dad was dead.

 _And it's my fault._ Dean thought. Everyone kept asking if he was okay, and he kept saying he was fine. But it was far from the truth.

They were staying with Bobby, and Dean was able to keep his mind occupied fixing up the Impala. But sometimes he couldn't keep his thoughts from wandering to dark places.

"Hey, how you doing?" Sam's voice startled him, and he put the wrench down.

"Great. She'll be good as new in no time." He straightened up, accepting the glass of water Sam handed him.

"I didn't ask about the car. I asked how _you're_ doing."

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean threw the glass to the ground, and it shattered. "When are you gonna stop asking me that?"

"Maybe when you stop lying to us about it?"

"I'm sick of it, okay? You wanna hear how I'm really doing, fine. I'll tell you. Dad sold his soul. For _me._ He's burning in Hell right now, because of _me._ He's dead, and it's my fucking fault. It should have been me!" Dean shouted. "It should have been me." His voice cracked, and he suddenly realized there were tears running down his face.

"It's not your fault." Sam said softly.

Dean gave a half laugh/half sob, not trusting himself to speak.

"I'm glad you didn't die. I need you, Dean."

"We needed Dad too."

Sam didn't reply, just wrapped him in a hug. "Look, I know you're not okay. I don't expect you to be. Just know that it wasn't your fault, and I'm here, alright?"

Dean nodded, squeezing his brother before pushing him away. He wiped his eyes. "God, you're such a girl."

Sam laughed, his own eyes wet. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

It went without saying that they would never speak of this conversation again.

* * *

Of all the things Sam had fucked up in his life, this had to be the worst. He couldn't begin to wrap his head around the magnitude of his mistake. The Devil was walking free because of him. _Fucking Satan._

And now, Lucifer wanted him to be his Vessel. No way that was happening. Sam didn't know what to do, but he knew he couldn't let that happen. His mind was spinning through a thousand ideas. How to beat him. How? This was the _Devil._ They'd never faced anything like this before. He put his head in his hands.

"You okay?" Dean asked. They were at Bobby's house, pulling up every single piece of Lore on Lucifer. It was 3 AM, and Bobby was digging through his attic trying to find a certain book on Angel Swords. Sam and Dean had been going over old manuscripts and even the Bible, for hours.

"I'm thinking about killing myself." Sam stated.

"What?" Dean's mouth fell open in shock.

"You heard me. There's not a whole lot I can do to stop the Devil, and we know he wants to wear me to the prom. If I'm dead, he can't. End of story."

Dean was struggling to find words. He put the book down and grabbed Sam by the collar, shoving him against the wall.

"Woah, what-"

"Don't you ever think that again." Dean's voice was a low growl, but Sam could hear the concern and desperation behind it. "You won't say yes. There's no reason for you to die. He'll find another Vessel regardless."

"I let him out, Dean. I started the _Apocalypse._ I don't even deserve to be alive."

"Dammit, Sammy!" Dean let go of his shirt, and pulled him into a rough hug. "You fucked up, big time. But it wasn't all on you. I broke the first seal, remember? And I'm still pissed at you for the whole Demon Blood thing, but you thought you were doing the right thing. You don't deserve to die." Dean pulled away, and looked into his brother's eyes. "You _can't_ die, you hear me? I need you."

Sam nodded, speechless. "O-Okay." He stammered.

Dean let out a shaky breath. "Good."

"Can...Can we pretend this conversation never happened?" Sam looked down.

"Yeah." Dean said quietly.

True to his word, they never talked about it again. But Dean watched his brother closely for weeks. It was his job to protect Sammy. Even if that meant protecting him from himself.


End file.
